


A Revelation

by enjolrazzledazzle



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrazzledazzle/pseuds/enjolrazzledazzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Combeferre scoffed and ignored his friends’ claims that he was like the mother hen of the group, he knew it to be true. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Courfeyrac reacts badly to being tickled and Combeferre knows he has to fix this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was super cathartic to write for me. Basically the way Courfeyrac is assaulted (in the past) was exactly what happened to me. This fic isn't very graphic but it could be very triggering so please read with caution. I'm a Courferre junkie, shoot me.

Although Combeferre scoffed and ignored his friends’ claims that he was like the mother hen of the group, he knew it to be true. 

1.

It started with Enjolras, a young man who was capable of being terrible and of ignoring things like sleep and food. So Combeferre took the blonde under his wing. His reasonable and calm suggestions that maybe Enjolras should take a break were only ignored half the time and Combeferre counted this as a win. 

2.

Next was Joly, whose crippling anxiety left him paralyzed to do anything but attend class and sit alone in his flat. Little by little, Combeferre had coaxed the man out of his damaging routine and introduced him to a group of friends that offered more support than the hypochondriac had ever had. Sure, Joly still hyperventilated at the sight of insects or mold. But now someone else was there to hand him a cup of tea and make him smile. 

3.

Bossuet and Bahorel never had a shortage of injuries for Combeferre to attend to. Ever since Enjolras had started their activist group and began to plan demonstrations, bruised knuckles and scraped knees were a normal occurrence. Combeferre made a habit of carrying the first aid kit to protests. 

4.

And because he seemed to be the group’s adopted parent, he cleaned up a lot of their messes. He often found himself cleaning up after Enjolras and his sharp, cutting words to their resident cynic. Finding Grantaire outside by the dumpster in a heap, empty bottle in hand, was sadly not a surprise. So it was up to him to put back together the broken man that was Grantaire. 

He carried him home, tucked him in and cleaned up the vomit from their trip to his room. He stayed and made sure Grantaire made it through the night. Because it was like taking care of a sick child and Combeferre had the maternal instincts of a mother bear. 

5.

Jehan never explained his melancholy to Combeferre and he never needed to. All Jehan really needed was a long embrace and a warm mug of hot cocoa and a place to stay the night. 

6.

After weeks of Marius being love struck and disgusting Combeferre had had enough. He marched into the Café Musain, found the blond barista, and told her to ‘Talk to the freckled idiot because he's not gonna make the first move, Cosette. Please end my suffering.’ And that had been that. Marius was still love struck and disgusting but at least he was happy. 

4.

Feuilly had three jobs and Eponine had four. They came into meetings looking disheveled and exhausted. Eponine often brought along a young boy with a quick mouth and a glint in his eye. Combeferre took a liking to Gavroche and offered to take him to and from school when he could. Eponine had refused but Combeferre had given her The Look. And she had screwed her eyes shut and nodded. 

One December night, Feuilly had collapsed from exhaustion and no one was surprised and everyone was worried. Combeferre had him admitted to the hospital under his own name to have Feuilly covered by his insurance. Upon learning this, Feuilly had given him a black eye and hugged him fiercely. 

5.

Combeferre was no stranger to taking care of people. This night was no different. From the moment the Halloween party had begun at the house Combeferre shared with Enjolras and Courfeyrac, he knew it would somehow end badly. He could feel it stirring in his gut. 

He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose and taking in the scene before him. His friends were all chatting and dancing to an indie Halloween playlist because that existed for some reason. 

Enjolras and Grantaire were bickering. 

Eponine and Feuilly were laughing as Gav stumbled about with a real jack-o-lantern upon his head. 

Cosette and Musichetta were dancing together and giggling. 

Their boyfriends looked on with fondness. 

And Bahorel and Courfeyrac were playfully fighting over something. It looked to be a notebook and as Courfeyrac was dwarfed by the giant that was Bahorel, the notebook was far out of reach. But Courfeyrac, Combeferre thought fondly, was nothing if not feisty. 

So it was no shock to anyone when Courfeyrac tackled Bahorel to the ground. The notebook was flung aside and forgotten as the two men struggled to get the upper hand in this play fight. Inevitably, Bahorel won out, pinning Courf to the ground. And here it was. The inevitable moment that things went wrong. 

Bahorel began tickling the smaller man, cackling as he squirmed. Combeferre watched as his friend froze and called for him to stop. 

“Stop.”

Bahorel ignored him, continuing in what he thought was playful. 

“Please. Stop! No! Stop!” Courfeyrac screamed with urgency and the blood in Combeferre's veins ran cold. The room froze and so did Bahorel. His screams had been piercing; sounds they'd never heard from their cheerful friend. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

Courfeyrac was crying now, hot tears leaking out of his brown eyes as he looked around wildly, like he didn't recognize the faces of his friends. 

He scrambled to get up, pushing Bahorel off of him and sprinting up the stairs. 

A door slammed. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Bahorel asked no one in particular. No one knew how to answer. And inevitably, their gazes all turned to Combeferre. 

Because if anyone could handle this, it was Combeferre. 

Courfeyrac was a man who wore a smile like it was his favorite t-shirt. Courfeyrac was youth and laughter and mischief. So seeing Courfeyrac frightened and bewildered gave Les Amis pause. 

Combeferre loved all his friends. But he held a special, quiet fondness for Courfeyrac. The man was so caring and funny and loving. His tactility showed itself on cold nights and at meetings and just about everywhere he could get away with hugging someone. 

Combeferre had to fix this. 

Combeferre nodded to the group and stood to follow the crying man. He followed the sound of muffled cries up the stairs to Courfeyrac's bedroom. He tread carefully, taking small, cautious steps as if he were approaching a wounded animal. 

The hallway was dark, the only light allowing visibility being the light escaping from beneath Courfeyrac's door. Combeferre could hear sobbing and it just about broke his his heart. He steeled himself and turned the knob. 

Courfeyrac sat hunched on the wooden floor beside his bed. His hands clutched at curly dark strands and his head was clamped between his knees. 

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said steadily, moving to sit in front of the crying man. “It's me, Combeferre.”

Courfeyrac sniffed and peeked over his knees. His large brown eyes were red and watery, showing Combeferre just how shaken he truly was. 

Combeferre, cautious in his movements, took the other man's hands from where they gripped at his hair. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Courfeyrac's cries turned into hiccups. 

“Come, let’s get you on to the bed,” Combeferre suggested. 

Combeferre sat against the headboard, Courfeyrac's head pillowed in his lap. He began sifting his fingers through his friend’s hair, knowing how much Courfeyrac adored it. 

“I must seem really silly. They must think I'm overdramatic,” Courfeyrac mumbled and pushed into the touch. 

“None of us think that. We're all a bit confused and quite concerned. We just want to help you,” he replied earnestly. The affection and admiration they felt for their friend knew no bounds. 

Combeferre began tiny braids. 

Courfeyrac was silent for a moment. 

“I should probably tell you what that was all about,” Courfeyrac sighed. 

Combeferre considered this. “Only if you want to.”

“No. No, it's time.” He took a breath, closed his eyes and began. 

“So my parents divorced when I was young. I never knew my father very well. And I know you know this but it's exposition so shut up. When I was seven years old my mom got a boyfriend. Let's call him Jim.”

Combeferre's stomach dropped. 

“Jim drove a sports car and made my mother happy. I was seven. So I didn't realize that it wasn't normal for someone's breath to smell of alcohol all the time. Every couple months, my mom would go on business trips and leave Jim to take care of me.”

Combeferre hated this. He hated this. 

“So some nights, Jim would get drunk and watch baseball in the den. Some nights he'd get drunk and come up to my room. He'd get drunk and he'd tickle me. Which I didn't hate but I certainly wasn't comfortable with. I mean the dude was a creep. Even seven year old me could see that.

But one night he got drunk and came up to my room and tickled me. And then- then he. He. He raped me. I don't think I ever looked that man in the eye again. It wasn't till years later that even told anyone. My mom and him had broken up a year after he - y’know. So long story short, I don't like to be tickled,” Courfeyrac said. 

Combeferre looked down into those sad, brown eyes and his heart felt like it had shattered. 

This man - this innocent boy had had his innocence taken from him. From someone he'd trusted. Combeferre didn't know how to fix this. 

He cleared his throat. “I'm so glad you trusted me enough to share that with me.”

This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. 

“Oh, Courfeyrac,” he whispered and slid down the bed to hold him properly. “I'm so incredibly sorry that happened to you. It's not fucking fair. It's not okay. Oh my god.” Combeferre had begun to cry in earnest, burying his head in the crook of his friend's neck. 

“It sucks,” Courfeyrac murmured. 

Combeferre pulled back to look into his eyes. He let out a wet laugh. 

“Yes. It does suck. A lot.”

They giggled, finding humor even in the most tragic times. 

A knock came from the door. Courfeyrac flinched, his fleeting smile gone. 

“I can tell them to go away,” Combeferre offered in a whisper. 

Courfeyrac shook his head. 

“Come in, asshole,” he called out. The two men both sat up, eyes puffy and red and hands clasped tight. 

The door opened. 

Bahorel stood in the doorway looking guilty and worried. 

“Come here, you big oaf,” Courfeyrac ordered and let go of Combeferre's hand to hold out his arms. 

Combeferre watched them hug for a good 5 minutes before they noticed the audience of friends that had collected outside. They parted. 

“Goodness, don't I feel special!” Courfeyrac drawled, receiving a few chuckles. “Alright, you worry warts, I'll explain the freak out.”

Combeferre held his hand again as he told them the shortened version and it was no less painful to watch Courfeyrac relive his assault. 

Needless to say, there were many tears and hugs and threats of killing Jim. Soon enough, they all trickled out of the room, leaving Combeferre and Courfeyrac alone. 

Combeferre moved to stand, ostensibly to go sleep in his own room across the hall. But desperate fingers grasped at his sweater. 

“Would you stay? Your cuddling skills are out of this world,” Courfeyrac joked but Combeferre saw through his easy grin. He saw the fear. 

“I suppose I'll let you make use of my expertise,” he said reasonably. 

He turned away to remove his clothes, left only in the boxers that Courfeyrac had gotten him for his birthday. They had peonies on them. 

Were his cheeks not a dark caramel, they would’ve been a bright red. It was ridiculous. He'd seen Courfeyrac's penis for crying out loud. (This was certainly not something he ever reminisced upon in the shower, no.)

But something about undressing in front of the other man made his heart flutter unreasonably. He preferred not to address it. 

When he turned back to face the bed, he was met with the sight of his friend’s freckled back. He flicked off the lights and blindly climbed under the covers. 

The room was silent for a moment, both men lying stiffly in the dark. 

“Hey, we agreed on cuddling. And I have to admit, I'm a bit disappointed,” Courfeyrac pointed out. 

Combeferre huffed out a laugh and obeyed, spooning Courfeyrac. “Demanding,” he teased. 

“You love me,” Courfeyrac replied. 

“I do,” he admitted and waited for the inevitable joke that would come from his friend. 

Courfeyrac turned in his arms to face him. 

“You do?” 

“More than I can say.”

Courfeyrac bit back a giggle. “And if I loved you too?”

Combeferre closed the small gap between them to press their lips together. The kiss was sweet and cathartic, full of revelation and love. It was over far too quickly for Courfeyrac's liking. 

That night, Combeferre held him close and reveled in the thoughts of a future. A future that involved Courfeyrac by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/ comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!


End file.
